


keep me from stumbling.

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [45]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Agender Character, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, Ice Skating, M/M, Other, Pre-Relationship, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 10:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5536037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hesitates for a few moments, glancing back and forth between his skates, the ice and Boyd’s outstretched hand.  Just about the time Boyd decides to drop it, Stiles slowly releases his grip on the boards and wraps his fingers around Boyd's. </p><p>“Alright.  Don’t laugh if I fall.”  </p><p>“I won’t.”</p><p>(written for the prompt "Stoyd + i’m a figure skater who’s trying to practice and you took your baby cousins out to the rink but none of you can skate do you need help??”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep me from stumbling.

**Author's Note:**

> **notes:** Boyd is agender and uses they/them/theirs. Scott is mentioned a few times and uses fae/faer pronouns.
> 
> also, while I like watching figure skating, I'm pretty unknowledgeable about it (and I can't skate), so apologies if any of this is totally wrong.

Boyd firmly believes that everyone should have a safe place; somewhere that they can go to relax, where all of their worries can melt away, even if it's only for a few moments.

For Boyd, that place is Beacon Hills’ only ice rink.

They’ve been going there since they were little, just barely old enough to know how to walk. Some of their earliest memories are of skating down the ice, clutching their mother’s hand on one side and their older sister Alicia's on the other. As soon as they turned four, Boyd’s parents enrolled them in the after school figure skating program, because it was cheaper than hockey and kept them out of the burning sun better than soccer.

From the very first day they stepped on the ice in their brand new skates, they never looked back. 

They’d branched out into other sports as they’d gotten older; basketball and track during middle school, lacrosse once they hit high school. But figure skating never went away. It was always there for Boyd when they were having a bad day, when the walls of the house seemed dangerously close to closing in. On those days, hitting the lacrosse pitch or the basketball court just didn’t help. 

But going to the rink always did. 

A few days before Christmas, Boyd wakes up and instantly knows that it’s going to be one of those days. Their mother has already left for work and the house is so quiet that the air actually seems _thick_ with silence. Boyd quickly gets dressed, tugging on a pair of loose jeans over the leggings they wear for skating. They pass by their sister’s long empty room and stop in the kitchen just long enough to grab a protein bar and some chocolate milk for breakfast. Their skates are hanging on the coat rack and they grab them on the way out the door. 

It’s a cool morning and the sky is peppered with gray clouds. The rink is still closed, but Boyd has a key; they work at the rink on the weekends, driving the Zamboni and doing whatever general maintenance work needs to be done. When they slip inside, the place is almost eerily quiet; the only sounds are the faint hum of the air conditioners and Boyd's footsteps as they travel through the warren of tunnels leading to the rink's main room. 

It should still be too quiet, too similar to home. But somehow, maybe because the place smells differently, like crispness and metal and snow, it’s quiet enough for Boyd to sigh contently as they walk towards the nearest bench and pull off their sneakers.

Once they’ve tucked their jeans into their bag and laced up their skates, they step out onto the ice. It’s as smooth as glass and Boyd takes a moment to get their bearings before setting off to circle the rink, cool air rushing past their face as they pick up speed. 

Boyd was never quite good enough to compete as a teenager, but they still have a repertoire of tricks that they like to do. After a few laps, they spin around and start skating backwards. Once that gets boring, they further mix things up, gliding for awhile on one foot. At some point, Boyd becomes faintly aware of other people stepping out onto the ice, which means that the rink must have opened to the public, but they simply skate around everyone and keep going. 

By the time Boyd slows to a stop, warm enough to be sweating under their light jacket, the rink is fairly busy. There are a few couples skating alongside some older regulars that wave to Boyd as they go by. There’s also a group venturing onto the ice on the opposite side of the rink. There’s four kids, all bundled up in puffy jackets, accompanied by a person who looks like they’re around Boyd’s age. They collectively get two steps onto the ice before three of the little ones slip and land on their backsides. The adult in the group reaches down to help them up, only to slide and land hard on their knees. 

Boyd winces before crossing the ice. They know all too well the look of someone who doesn’t know how to skate. 

“Hi,” they say as they pull up beside the group, reaching down to help up one of the kids. "Need some help?" 

“ _Please_ say you know how to skate,” the person supervising the kids immediately replies, grabbing the boards and pulling themselves up. “Oh! Pronouns?” they add, pointing to the button on Boyd’s jacket that says _Ask me about my pronouns!_

“They/them, but if it’s easier for the kids-”

“Oh, they’ll be fine with it. My best friend uses fae/faer and they haven’t gotten that wrong once.”

“Is Scott here?” one of the kids asks, which leads to a chorus of cries of _Scott? Where’s Scott?_ The person groans and drops their head into their hands. 

“Little traitors. They like fae more than me and fae’s not even their cousin,” they mutter. “I’m Stiles, by the way, he/him. I've never been skating before, but my aunt told us to leave so she could finish wrapping presents and I was _not_ taking this bunch to the mall. They'd clean out my entire bank account.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I know how to skate,” Boyd says, automatically steadying one of the kids when they wobble. “We have a few trainers that they can use if it would be easier for them.” 

“That would be great."

“I’ll be right back. Hold on to the boards.” As they step back off the ice, Boyd hears one of the kids pipe up. 

“Stiles, how come you don’t know how to skate?” 

“Because, Liam, I suck.” 

Boyd laughs the entire way to the storage closet where they keep the skating trainers, which look a little bit like small walkers without wheels. It takes them a few moments to drag four back out to the rink but by the time they come back from locking the closet again, Stiles’ four cousins seem to be doing a bit better, holding onto the trainers as they creep along on wobbly legs. 

Stiles, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to be trying at all. 

“Give up already?” Boyd asks, leaning up against the boards beside Stiles.

“Eh, I gave it a shot,” Stiles says with a shrug, fingers wrapped tight around the small ledge where the glass and boards meet. “Besides, I’m really just here to supervise them.”

“Well, if you change your mind, there’s another trainer in the closet,” Boyd says. “Or I can help, if you want.” 

“Are you sure?” Stiles asks. “I mean, you look like you’re pretty good. I don’t want to slow you down.” Boyd appreciates the compliment, so they simply smile slightly before holding out their hand. 

“I was winding down anyways. I don't mind.” Stiles hesitates for a few moments, glancing back and forth between his skates, the ice and Boyd’s outstretched hand. Just about the time Boyd decides to drop it, Stiles slowly releases his grip on the boards and wraps his fingers around Boyd's. 

“Alright. Don’t laugh if I fall.” 

“I won’t.” On cue, Stiles slips slightly, just enough for him to lose his balance and grab Boyd’s arm. Boyd doesn’t laugh, but one of Stiles’ cousins giggles as they glide by, holding onto the trainer. 

“Keep it up Hayden, you’ll get coal in your stocking,” Stiles replies, slowly sliding forward a bit. His fingers are wrapped in a death grip around Boyd’s and his already pale skin has gone almost white, contrasting with the brown moles that are scattered down the side of his neck. After a few uneventful moments, Boyd slowly spins around until they’re facing Stiles and skating backwards.

“You’re doing fine,” Boyd says, automatically adjusting their skates to adjust for the slight curvature of the rink. 

“How long have you been skating for?” Stiles asks, eyes staring straight down at the ice. 

“Eyes up," Boyd replies. "And since I was a kid. I work here too, on the weekends.” 

“Must be pretty cold,” Stiles chuckles, voice wavering slightly as he wobbles again. 

“You get used to it. It's awesome in summer.” 

They continue their small talk as they slowly make their way around the perimeter of the rink. Boyd absently keeps an eye on Stiles’ cousins, but all of them seem to be doing fairly well. When they do fall, they just get back to their feet and keep going. After a few minutes, they make it back to where they started. Stiles drops Boyd’s hand and leans against the boards once more, tilting his head back against the glass. 

“Alright, one lap is enough,” he sighs. “I don’t know how you do it. That was seriously terrifying.” 

“It’s automatic, at this point,” Boyd replies. “It’s all about practice.” 

“I think I’ll leave that to you,” Stiles laughs, running one hand through his disheveled dark hair. “Thanks for the help. That was way less embarrassing than using one of those training things.” 

“Anytime,” Boyd says. They momentarily take a moment to pull their phone from the inside pocket of their jacket. It’s nearly noon, which means that the public skate will be ending soon. Normally, Boyd would think about sticking around a bit longer, but their legs are actually a little sore and if they get home soon, they can have supper cooked for their mom when she gets home. 

“Actually…” When Boyd looks up, Stiles is blushing slightly and rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ll be around for another week or so. Could I buy you coffee or something? If that’s way too forward though, that’s fine, just forget I-”

“Stiles, coffee sounds great,” Boyd interrupts, rolling their eyes slightly. “Whatever day works best for you.” 

By the time they finish exchanging numbers, all four of Stiles’ cousins have come back to join them. Boyd says bye to all of them before grabbing two of the trainers and bringing them back to the storage closet. When they come back to grab the other two, Stiles’ group is sitting on a nearby bench. 

“Stiles, are you going on a date with Boyd?” one of the cousins asks, absently kicking their skates back against the bench. 

“Yeah, I think I am,” Stiles says, rapidly loosening the laces on his own skates. “Why, is that alright with you guys?”

“Yep,” Hayden (or at least Boyd thinks it's Hayden) replies. “We like them. They’re cool, like Scott.” 

“So what, does that mean you think they’re cooler than I am?” In sync, all four of his cousins nod and Stiles says something under his breath that sounds very much like a inappropriate curse word.

“Bunch of traitors. Never taking you anywhere again,” he mutters, kicking one skate off. 

Boyd grins the entire way back to the storage closet.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
